


at midnight

by andchaos



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: The first time happens in his dorm room. Dennis isn’t planning on it, he’s not thinking about it—he just can’t help it. The way Mac looks, the way he smells. Seeing him laugh the whole way home.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 5
Kudos: 112





	at midnight

**Author's Note:**

> written in a haze as a “what happens next” to [kafkian's prompt](https://kafkian.tumblr.com/post/612774575329181696/what-do-you-think-the-very-first-time-they-messed) that send me spinning.

The first time happens in his dorm room. Dennis isn’t planning on it, he’s not thinking about it—he just can’t help it. The way Mac looks, the way he smells. Seeing him laugh the whole way home.

Because they were at a party, before. Before Mac had a few more PBRs than usual. Before Mac kissed Dennis in his doorway and sucked his dick on the floor. Before he came with Dennis wrapped around him, kissing his neck, touching his cock.

Mac grabs his face to look him in the eye, and he looks—well, gorgeous, but a mess too. He’s never seen him look like this: Red-cheeked and lazy and like he wants to kiss Dennis again, and Dennis’s heart is beating too hard, his limbs feel like lead, he should pull out of Mac’s arms. Mac’s arms feel like a vice.

But Mac kisses him first, instead; and on balance Dennis melts into his chest. He’s mean most of the time but a little less so after he comes; he winds his arms around Mac’s neck as he bites down on his lip, and Mac hisses in pain but his knees are buckling, too. Too sensitive. Too soon. Dennis grins against his mouth. He cups Mac’s cheeks and kisses him again, going in deeper this time. Mac’s tongue is fat and heavy in his mouth, back to drunk now that he isn’t hard anymore, because apparently those two things are related.

Dennis likes vices. He collects them like other people collect coins, he always has. Cigarettes at age fourteen, his first beer a couple weeks later. Weed the year after that. Coke three times, always at Mac’s house parties. Acid with the gang: Mac bought a bunch of psychedelics off some guy who hired him to load his band equipment in and out of his van for shows; he’d been gone a lot that summer, touring the whole East Coast—well, touring New York and New Hampshire and Maine and the whole of New England, at least. Come to think of it, Mac’s supplied a lot of his vices. What’s one more?

Dennis shifts, pressing his bare thighs against Mac’s.

“Wait,” says Mac, and he’s brushing his nose against Dennis’s, he’s—he’s pulling away, that isn’t right. Dennis’s fingers instinctively clench in his t-shirt. “Wait—”

But he’s only grabbing Dennis’s hands, collecting them off his shoulders and ensnaring one wrist before Dennis can instinctively yank them away. He twitches, still tempted to.

“What are you—”

“Shut up.”

He says it so simply. So quiet and assured. Dennis swallows. He tries again:

“But I’m—”

He’s cut off this time by Mac laying his free hand to his cheek. Dennis stutters to silence, his eyes slipping closed of his own volition, leaning into the pressure. Mac kisses his bottom lip, once.

“Shut up,” he says again.

He starts pulling Dennis toward the bed. His fingers are so warm and tight, closed around his arm like that, and—and it’s impossible not to compare it to his mouth, not twenty minutes ago as he blew Dennis on his knees. Both making him feel liquid hot all over, starting in the pit of his stomach, though his mouth had been a lot wetter and Dennis’s stomach dips, remembering that. If Mac’s hand goes any further, Dennis is going to pull away. If he makes one move from his wrist to his hand.

But Mac doesn’t go any further. He just holds Dennis tightly by the wrist and pulls him over to the bed, pushes him down onto it.

“You’re being bossy tonight,” Dennis observes from his elbows—because it’s really an observation, it is, not a question or complaint.

He kicks off his shoes, yanks his jeans off too. Mac pulls back the covers so Dennis can shimmy underneath them. He does, watching Mac with parted lips the whole time. Once Dennis is settled Mac climbs in after him, stripping down his boxers first too.

Mac considers him for a minute. Then he says, “Someone has to be,” with enormous finality, and he pulls Dennis in and hauls his thigh over Mac’s hip once he’s close enough. Dennis lets out a gasp but it’s tiny, involuntary. Mac anchors his chin between two fingers and looks him in the eye, and it—it stings, a little. It’s so steady. So self-assured.

“Now shut up,” he says, and shoves his tongue in Dennis’s mouth.

Dennis moans, flattening himself on the bed and just going limp. Mac clutches his thigh closer to his waist and then goes further, fingers digging into his hip, into his ass. Dennis yanks on him, pulls him even closer so they’re chest to chest when he gets on his back and forces Mac to cover him, every inch of skin he can reach.

Tonight doesn’t count, Dennis reasons, threading his fingers into Mac’s hair to keep his mouth on his neck. Mac laves his tongue over a spot that makes Dennis’s thighs spasm, fall open and he’s there to fill the extra space in a heartbeat, squeezing himself between Dennis’s legs with a contented sigh like Dennis has rarely ever heard out of him. Mac kisses across his collar to his other shoulder and tonight is just a fluke, tonight’s borne from too many beers so it means nothing, tonight Mac is pressing his lips to Dennis’s chest, to the underside of his chin, back to his lips.

Mac noses his neck, kisses him there after. He whispers, so softly he’s just breathing it into Dennis’s skin, like it’s not even meant for him:

“You sound so good, Den.” He’s breathless, just a little. His mouth skates across his neck again, wet and open. “I wanna see…”

He kisses his neck again, harder like he’s got a purpose this time. Like he’s trying to read the entire map of Dennis’s body and learn it by heart.

Dennis stares up at the ceiling, feeling dizzy. His hand is still tight in Mac’s hair, but he’s not guiding him, instead letting Mac track kisses everywhere he can reach. His roaming hands don’t stop. Tonight doesn’t count. Tonight is...tonight…

Mac kisses his mouth again, coaxes it open with a soft tongue and licking inside so sweetly—he’s got beer on his breath still, beer and Dennis’s come, but it’s not as unpleasant as he might have expected. The hand in Mac’s hair begins to stroke instead of holding him fast. Mac squeezes him around the waist, and Dennis closes his eyes.

It’s barely three a.m.; the sun won’t rise for hours yet. But they’ll still be kissing, unhurried and gentle and not saying a word, whenever it does.


End file.
